


shoot my breaths, you're the highest high

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Series: FAHC High Sex [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Hand Jobs, High Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Just the two of them, half a twenty-bag, and a Diet Coke at Ryan’s feet. He couldn’t think of a better (and more nerve-wracking) way to spend his night.





	shoot my breaths, you're the highest high

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

“You’ve really never done this?”

“Nope,” says Ryan, popping the ‘p’.

“Well,” says Jeremy, “I’ll help you through it, no problem. It’s real nice. I promise.”

He tips up the last of… well, what is now _basically_ a pile of deep green flecks, funnelling them from the grinder into his papers, and starts to roll. Ryan’s never been any good with rolling papers, but it’s still interesting to watch.

It’s especially interesting to watch Jeremy seal the edge, his tongue poking out to dampen the glue. But Ryan does his best not to seem too invested in that.

They’d pulled over on a layby, on a deserted dirt road, and had jumped a nasty old rickety fence to make their way onto the incline of the mountain. It’s all lush wildgrass here, with thorns if they were to be particularly careless, so the two of them are sat on Ryan’s leather jacket and Jeremy’s godawful purple blazer. Sunset’s creeping over the horizon - almost gone, Ryan thinks, and glances at the purple jacket, mentally holding it against the richly indigo skies, whilst Jeremy twists the end of the joint.

Just the two of them, half a twenty-bag, and a Diet Coke at Ryan’s feet. He couldn’t think of a better (and more nerve-wracking) way to spend his night.

“Okay,” he says, “I think you’re gonna wanna keep your mouth open a little when you inhale. Do it gently, or you’re gonna choke… Oh, and don’t let the roach touch your tongue.”

“Roach?”

“The end bit, the tip,” he explains, tapping a fingertip to the part he’d folded paper into. Like a cigarette filter. Okay. “If you wet it, it gets all soggy. Gav called it ‘bum-licking’, I think.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Oh, he is. Cover me?”

Ryan cups his hands around the end of the joint whilst Jeremy lights it - keeping the cherry as evenly burnt as he can, despite the evening’s breeze, the man twirls it between his thumb and forefinger to catch. When the cherry flares up, he makes sure the paper isn’t alight, before taking a deep drag.

Ryan watches. He tries not to flick his tongue over his lips.

After a good ten seconds, Jeremy lets the smoke billow out in a great plume. It’s thicker and whiter than Ryan had been expecting, not like cigarettes at all--

“You wanna hold it for as long as you can in your lungs,” Jeremy’s explaining, passing it over. “When you think you’ve breathed in as much as you can, breathe in some _more_ , yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ryan murmurs, and lifts the joint to his face. It’s a lot easier than he’d been expecting, and for a second, the spice of hot smoke curling past his teeth is a welcome shock. He soothes it by sucking in some cool night air, and does his best to hold his breath.

“Hey, you didn’t choke. Nice goin’, pal.”

He nods. _Thanks_.

It tastes worse when he finally exhales, because now he’s aware of the foul paper burn in the back of his throat. It’s stale, but it’s warm. When he spits phlegm away from him into the wildgrass, he tries to do it in the least gross way possible.

“How come you’ve never done this before?”

“Guess I was hanging out with the wrong wrong-crowd,” Ryan grins, pulling the tab on his Diet Coke. When he lifts the can to his mouth, he can smell warm smoke clinging to the ridges of his fingers.

“You’re getting smiley,” Jeremy says, and Ryan grins some more, and that makes Jeremy’s lips twitch, and they both end up beaming at each other in amusement until Jeremy lays himself down on their jackets. Ry’s only in his black t-shirt, and Jeremy’s only in his orange one, and their short sleeves let the cool evening air brush against the hair on their arms. Ryan tries not to dwell on it; Jeremy hands the joint back, and he takes another toke.

“You feel it yet?”

Ryan does. It’s a little like goosebumps are rippling across his skin, as though he’s the readout on an old-timey radar display. The corners of his mouth turn up, pinned there by the feeling.

“I do,” he says, after what feels like several minutes. “Have you got a watch?”

“No, but you can count the seconds on your cell phone if you have one of those analog widgets,” is the reply from behind his elbow. Ryan passes the joint back as he searches for a clock to put on one of his screens.

“It’s pretty out,” he says.

Jeremy tips his hat backwards, out of his eyes, and takes in the scenery. They’re on the incline of the mountain, so he doesn’t even have to sit upright - the world’s laid out in front of them like a last meal. Thick orange sunlight is curling into thin pink and purple clouds. The grass, when Ryan reaches out a hand to brush against it, is soft and cool and vibrantly green. It’s an alien planet, almost - it’s like he’s seeing the depth of Los Santos for the very first time.

“Thanks for taking me out here.”

“No problem,” Jeremy says lazily. He’s got twilight caught in his eyes. “We deserve a chance to relax.”

Ryan makes the arms of the jackets they’re sat on link together silently.

The wind seems to nudge the earth in slow motion whilst he watches. It’s surprising how bright it is out, still. Beside him, he’s aware of Jeremy starting to take another drag, and the telltale scratching of the lighter says that the joint’s almost burnt down.

“...The seconds aren’t moving like they’re supposed to.”

“Cool, right?”

Ryan blinks, like he could fix his warped perception of time if he closed his eyes firmly enough. “Jeremy, it’s dark magic and I don’t trust it.”

“You’d better,” Jeremy grins, and puffs the remaining smoke in his lungs towards Ryan’s face. Ryan tries to blow the cloud back, but without substance, he ends up vaporising it.

“Wanna share the last bit?”

“If that’s cool with you,” Ryan says, holding a lazy hand out for the half inch left before the roach, but Jeremy shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, and sits up. “I mean, like… You know what shotgunning is?”

Ryan considers it for a second. “I’ve seen, like, the Vietnam footage with the pipe in the actual shotgun.”

“Oh, we could totally do that sometime. I don’t have anything like that, though.”

“So, you mean,” says Ryan, cottoning on, “with _mouths_ and shit?”

“Only if you wanna.”

“Sure,” he says. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Jeremy digs his feet into the mountainside and shuffles himself closer. “Okay,” he starts. “I’m gonna take a drag and then blow it towards your mouth, yeah? You breathe in when I breathe out.”

Ry nods.

Turning away briefly to take the biggest drag he can, Ryan takes the opportunity to shamelessly rake his eyes down Jeremy’s torso - there’s the tiniest gap in the neckline of his t-shirt that lets Ryan see past the collarbone, into the hair that starts curling over his pecs at some point. He’s admiring how the awful orange material hugs Jeremy’s biceps when the man twists back around, flicking his sight up frantically towards his hat.

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna get in the way,” Ryan laughs, and gently removes it. When he catches Jeremy’s gaze, setting the hat down on the grass beside them, it’s one that darts between Ryan’s pupils, like he can’t figure out which eye to focus on.

Ryan blinks owlishly, and then, without thinking about what he’s doing, he tilts Jeremy’s chin towards him. The high is already making his whole body feel statically charged, right down to the humming sensation in his fingertips, but it’s nothing compared to how Jeremy’s beard prickles lightly against his palm, or the way their dry lips jaggedly catch against the other’s mouth when they meet in the middle. Not quite creating a seal; only _just_ touching.

Jeremy’s hand settles on Ryan’s thigh, and then he breathes out the smoke, very slowly. It turns into a sigh as Ryan starts to inhale. The act is strangely intimate - hell, it’s unexpectedly erotic - and he feels warmth settle in between his legs. Ryan would probably be horrified and ridiculously embarrassed, were he not a respected amount of _absolutely fucking high_ at present, so instead, he just kind of enjoys it and lets the moment play out.

Jeremy pulls back, with a dazed look of contentment faintly etched into his expression.

Ryan points at his own mouth. “Do you want this back?” he asks, letting a plume of scented smoke drift out of his mouth. It breaks that lovely little spell - Jeremy starts to wheeze until there are tears in his eyes. He looks so absurdly attractive that Ryan finds himself laughing alongside, staring at the gathering dampness in the corner of his eyes that _he_ put there.

He takes a long swig of his Coke, and the roof of his mouth, over-sensitive as it is, seems to feel every single bubble bursting against it.

“Can I...?” says Jeremy, waving at his own mouth. “Got smoke taste.”

“Sure.”

Jeremy’s halfway through a huge sip of his own when Ryan says what’s on his mind:

“We should do that again.”

“You got it,” says Jeremy, swallowing quickly and reaching for the grinder, “let me just make up another one and--”

“--No,” says Ryan quietly. “I meant… I, uh, _didn’t_ mean with... smoke.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. For the second time, he feels like he should be embarrassed, but his stupid idiot dumb face is still smiling and it feels infectious. “We could--”

“ _Oh_ ,” says Jeremy, more decisively, and wets his lips before he kisses Ryan full on the mouth. He can feel every ridge of what he distantly remembers is the _lower vermillion_ in anatomy, the red part Jeremy just licked, like, a second ago, and _then_ he starts to marvel at how his high thoughts are like a river that keeps breaking off into little streams, and then, well - _then_ he’s kissing back, and running his hands over those exposed upper arms, like he’s been wanting to all damn evening. He languidly drags his palms up to the fabric of Jeremy’s shirt, and runs them back down the man’s side, hoping to elicit some noises.

Jeremy _whines_.

“Are you warm?” Ryan murmurs, against Jeremy, “I’m _warm_ , I’m so fucking warm--”

“Where?” Jeremy murmurs back. He knows damn well where.

Ryan whines, fumbling for Jeremy’s hand and placing it directly over his crotch. At the same time, he reaches for the buttons of Jeremy’s horrendous mustard-coloured pants, pushing the zipper down with his ring and pinky fingers and finally, _finally_ sliding his hand inside. Jeremy’s hip immediately twitch towards the source of the pressure, and Ryan’s only too happy to give him more.

“Fuck,” says Jeremy, pressing his palm against Ryan’s jeans, “I am _not_ gonna last long, dude.”

“Me neither,” Ryan says. He feels like he might be slurring. Everything’s deliriously, deliciously slow - especially when Jeremy pulls his dick out of his jeans and starts running clever fingers down the length - so he buries his face against the man’s pulse point and huffs. “I’m so turned on... Holy _fuck_.”

Jeremy groans. “I gotcha,” he says. Ryan’s got _him_ , too. They’re loosely gripping at each other, holding on as best as their thrumming fingers will allow them to. The ring of Jeremy’s fingers twitch against the head of Ryan’s cock, when Ryan grazes teeth down the skin behind Jeremy’s jaw, liquid heat pooling between his hips.

“How’re y--how’re you doin’?”

“Ahh,” Ryan says in response. As much as he’d like to articulate it, he can only turn it over waywardly in his mind: the temperature dissonance spreading through his legs is like thickly applied tiger balm, all deep heat and soothing menthol. Like standing in the sprinklers on a hot summer afternoon. Jeremy’s grounding grasp is like lying flat on his back on the beach and letting the tide crash into his entire body.

_How’s your heart, Ryan?_

The errant thought removes the internal, blurry focus away from his chest. His heart is beating a mile a minute, except that in this particular state, Ryan’s measuring minutes in an elastic time he has no control over.

He’s not really sure where that thought even came from.

Jeremy’s knees start to shake, and Ryan puts all of his energy into speeding up his hand - as it is, they’re both going much more slowly than they would be otherwise, but it doesn’t stop Jeremy from chanting sentences into Ryan’s hair. He increases in pitch with each cycle: “shit, _yes_ , Ryan,” he’s breathing, “ _fuck_ yes, jerk me off, just like that--”

And then Ryan’s watching in wonder as Jeremy spills all down his hand, trying to buck his hips further into the heat that tipped him over the edge. Something in him twists pleasantly, and he has to take in a deep, shuddering lungful of air, purely because his body had forgotten to for a hot minute - it’s only then that he realises how close he actually is, and curls his other hand around Jeremy’s hipbone.

“Jere,” he moans, “I’m gonna cum.”

Jeremy half-heartedly tightens his hand around Ryan’s leaking cock and presses a warm kiss to his temple. It’s only a few quick jerks until Ryan’s groaning without being aware of it, dripping onto their jackets and the grass below, his body tensing in waves. The atmosphere is crashing down on him, hot rain and storms in July. Refreshing and electric.

He removes himself from where his cheek is pressed into Jeremy’s t-shirt, and they draw back to look at each other. Jeremy’s eyes are pink-tinged. His pupils are hugely dilated, hung darkly in the middle of the rings of colour.

His mouth is slightly open. Ryan kisses it.

“It’s not fair,” he says at some point, muffled against Ryan’s scruff.

“Hm?”

“ _Your_ jacket’s wipe-clean,” he points out. “Mine’s fuckin’ not.”

“What do you wanna do? Jizz on one of my jackets that _isn’t_ hydrophobic?” Ryan asks him incredulously. “That’s a very specific retaliation, Jeremy.”

Jeremy does his jeans back up. “Yeah, but… It means we could do this again. I dunno.”

In answer, Ryan cups the back of his neck and pulls him back in for a deeper kiss. And god, does kissing whilst high feel damn good. His fucking _teeth_ are humming with post-orgasm energy, holy shit.

“That a yes?”

“That’s a yes, _please_ ,” Ryan snorts.

“Oh, good,” Jeremy grins, pulling a bar of Hershey’s out from underneath his blazer, “‘cos now this is celebration chocolate instead of miserable-rejection chocolate. You want some?”

“I don’t know if I can cum again right now,” Ryan says dubiously, and Jeremy laughs, and laughs, and eventually Jeremy manages to tear the wrapper off.

He rolls another joint; Ryan breaks off squares of cookies-n-creme. They spend their evening smoking on the mountainside, buried in the wildgrass, and watch over Los Santos well after the sun’s disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers for reading - if you like my stuff, maybe consider author-subscribing to me! Kudoses are also appreciated. Noice.
> 
> My fic blog is [here](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/).


End file.
